His Worst Nightmare
by Mandeebobandee
Summary: Alfred is plagued by a nightmare, one which he desperately hopes will never come to light. America centric, with a small appearance from Russia.


**This is somewhat…dark, and contains references to radiation sickness and nuclear bombs. It's a much different tone than my crack fic, if you happen to be reading that. Just a fair warning.**

_He was at the White House when it happened._

He thought it was all over. He thought that the fall of the Soviet Union meant the end of this. Little did he realize that it was only the beginning.

The iceberg resembling the Cold War had recently grown to larger proportions than ever. Alfred's boss and Ivan's boss were at a fierce standoff, leaving Alfred and Ivan waiting on tenterhooks. Did they really want this? Wasn't this enough of a headache the first time around? Game pieces were placed into their positions, neither Alfred nor Ivan willing to make a move to end this stalemate.

Someone wasn't content to leave the pieces in their current arrangement. Someone opted to move a piece forward.

And then all hell broke loose.

Alfred had been called to his boss' office for an emergency meeting. He had never heard a boss so frightened in his life. He threw on his best clothes and practically sprinted down the hall. He threw open the doors to his boss' office. Then he collapsed to the ground at once, a burning sensation radiating through his chest.

Pain. He wasn't new to pain. Brief flashes of the Civil War, Pearl Harbor, and 9/11 flashed through his head. No, this pain was different somehow. Worse. This realization made Alfred slightly nauseous. What could be worse than the Civil War?

It was only the beginning.

Sensations, much like the one in his chest, began to creep throughout his body. It was all he could do not to cry out in pain, though as hard as he tried, he could not help but writhe a little on the floor. Alfred was no longer slightly nauseous. He felt a warm liquid bubbling up in his throat. Though it hurt to move, Alfred was able to roll himself to his side before vomiting. If Alfred wasn't disconcerted before, he was upon seeing the color of his vomit. Red. Red, red, red. He was vomiting blood. Something was eating him apart from both the inside and out. What was capable of doing such a thing? He was a nation, not a human. What force could be this powerful, this frightening, that it had him at his knees at one fell swoop?

Alfred felt another burning sensation sweep down his forearm. Wide eyes darted down to his arm, mostly covered by the suit. With some effort, Alfred was able to rip his suit upward. Another wave of nausea hit, but this one was not from the effects of the unseen force wreaking havoc on him. No, this came from the sight of the burn on his arm. He recognized it. He'd seen it before, on a human. A human woman who was present for the bombing of Hiroshima or Nagasaki. Alfred couldn't recall exactly which. All he knew was that this was no ordinary burn. This was a radiation burn.

Nukes.

Checkmate.

Alfred covered his ears as the screams started. He knew it was only a matter of time. He could see his people suffering, hear them, feel them. He closed his eyes as tears rolled down his cheeks, a familiar wave of guilt coming over him. Was this what Kiku felt at the end of World War II? Had he really put another being through this? He wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy.

His worst enemy.

His worst enemy was standing against the opposite wall. Alfred's vision was blurred, so he could not make out the features at first. But he would recognize that scarf anywhere.

"_You…" He hissed._

_He was the one who'd done this. It was Russia. He was responsible for it all. And he had the nerve to show his face at the White House? On Alfred's land? If Alfred had more strength, he would have lunged for Ivan at once, to wipe the creepy smile off of the dirty commie's face once and for all. As it was, though, a slight jarring caused Alfred to vomit once more. He was in no condition to do much of anything._

Besides, he soon became aware of something else.

Ivan was smiling, but it wasn't even his usual smile. There was something present in Ivan's eyes that Alfred had never seen before, in the hundreds of years that he'd known Russia. It was fear, desperation. Pain. Ivan was clutching at his chest. He had a familiar looking burn across his face. His skin was red, cracked, peeling, blood escaping from cracks in the skin. Alfred knew at once that he looked just like that. And then, before Alfred's eyes, Ivan collapsed on to the floor.

_Alfred tried to scream, but all he could force out was a strangled sounding groan. Alfred was the one who emitted it, yet it didn't even sound human to his ears. It sounded like a wounded animal on his last limbs._

_Mutually assured destruction._

He found himself asking why. No...he knew why. Who. He wanted to know who. Who had dropped the first bomb. His boss...the President of the United States of America...obviously misread his face. "You want to know who won?"

"_There are…no winners…" Alfred stammered out. "Who?"_

_A wry smile came across the President's face. "We did, of course."_

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" He cried out as his eyes flew open.

Alfred slowly became aware that he was no longer in pain. In fact, he was no longer in the White House. He was no longer anywhere resembling where he'd been before. It had all been a dream, one horrific nightmare, and it most certainly wasn't the first.

Alfred had fallen asleep on a bench in the hallway. This was the first time he'd had such a dream in the public eye. With this realization, Alfred also became aware that he wasn't alone. Fortunately, if he'd cried out, it hadn't attracted a crowd. Alfred didn't know if he would be able to live with that.

There was someone there though. Were Alfred in a normal mood, he would have laughed and tried to play everything off. Were no one there, Alfred would have gone on with his day as though nothing happened...as though his heart weren't still racing, as though the tearstains on his cheeks were from something ridiculous like too much dust in the air or something.

Alfred found that he didn't care, though. He didn't even care the identity of the person there with him. He just pulled them close to him, closing his eyes tightly, grateful for the feeling of a warm body to provide comfort to him. He felt like a small colony all over again, seeking refuge from a fictional monster under the bed.

Only in this case, the monster was real. And it could strike at any time.

**This actually started out as an RP post, hence why Alfred is seeking comfort from someone in the end. In the original RP, the person in question was my friend's OC Ireland, but for the sake of this fanfic, it can be anyone you want to picture, in any relation to Alfred. I'll leave that open to the reader's imagination.**


End file.
